


Novena to Mary, Undoer of Knots

by laliquey



Category: Warrior (2011)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laliquey/pseuds/laliquey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This came from the idea that Tommy's very specific response to his father's hotel room relapse mirrors what Brendan once did for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Novena to Mary, Undoer of Knots

**Author's Note:**

> _Most Holy Mary, you undo the knots that suffocate your children. Extend your merciful hands to me._

Brendan was sprawled out on his bed studying when the jagged peaks and drops of an argument erupted downstairs. Something about a ham bone gone bad in the fridge. 

_"We're not millionaires!"_ pop roared, followed by noodley soft words from mom, then, _"What the hell do you do all day while I work?"_

Tommy's plaintive voice broke in and got shut down, then a flurry of shouts and the crash of something broken. Mom's high, thin wail gave Brendan chills before disgust settled deep in his gut.

It was the exact same shit every time: an initial offense, a fight of variable length and violence, then mom retreating to their room and pop to the bar with a hefty slam of the front door. It was almost as if they were paid actors rehashing the same superficial scene, never once stopping to learn from it or decide they'd had enough. The person most affected seemed to be Tommy, who absorbed it all and felt every curse in his bones. Any marks left on their mother somehow made a vicarious transfer to his heart, and as much as the parental drama meant nothing to Brendan anymore, his brother's pain still did.  
  
He burrowed further into Calculus and Tommy came up the steep stairs with the hem of his shirt pulled out taut, a handful of clinking porcelain pieces cradled in the dip of it.  
  
"He didn't hit her but he broke two of her good china cups and I'm gonna glue 'em," he said, and knelt to gently transfer the pieces to the trunk next to his bed. "Look."

He held up a delicate scalloped handle and joined it to a broken wall of the body in a seamless fit.

"See?" he said proudly. "Even if it won't hold water the china cabinet'll still look like she's got the whole set."  
  
"Nice of you," Brendan said, and tried to return to his derivative exercises but ended up watching Tommy sort the chips and chunks.

It was soon apparent there wasn't enough to make two full cups and none of the pieces fit together as well as the first two. "I guess this prolly ain't gonna work," Tommy said, but didn't sweep the pieces in the trash. Knowing him he'd try at least five more times before giving up.

"Who cares? I don't think we've ever used all twelve of 'em anyway."  
  
Tommy nodded but his breath changed, like he was trying to swallow down something bigger than would fit. "I been thinkin' about killing him," he said quietly, a little wobble in his voice. "I could, you know."  
  
So their melodrama had infected him, too. "You can't kill pop."  
  
"Yeah I can. Get him in a triangle choke and just not let go."  
  
"Tommy, no."  
  
Dark wildness sparked in his eyes as he stood. "Okay, since you're the smart one help me figure out how to do it."  
  
"Tom-"  
  
"I can't be here anymore, okay?" he cried. "We can't. Mom can't. It's his house, right? An' I don't mean to blaspheme..." His voice lowered to the volume of terrible secrets. "But sometimes I wonder if Father Cleary's like a department store Santa Claus or somethin' 'cause I've been praying so hard but it never gets through. I been thinking 'bout sneaking off to try Mass at Saint Pete's."  
  
Brendan had made his own uneasy peace on that front. "Saint Pete's won't make any difference, Tommy."  
  
"Don't you start sayin' that stuff again about how God's not real, okay? I know you're way into atoms or math or whatever but it scares me you're gonna burn in hell so don't say it. Just don't."

"Fine." Brendan shrugged but Tommy wanted a fight.

"You're pulling away from us," he said, eyes hardening. "Like you're so mad about pop you don't care about any of us anymore. A little bit me but mostly mom. You don't love her like you used to."

It hurt to hear. "No. That's not true."  
  
Tommy's wobble got wider. "Yeah it is. And I miss you. You're always at school or thinkin' about school, or girls, or your ten million friends..." He looked to the ceiling and his face scrunched in pain. "I get so scared for the day when you're not here anymore, Bren. I can't put up with them by myself."  
  
He put down his book and stood up with an open arm. "Tommy, I'm sorry. Come on-"  
  
"No."

"Come on. I'm your brother."

He took a step back towards his bed and cast his face down, embarrassed to be so close to crying. "So?"

"Hey. Just shut up an' let me do this." He reached out again but Tommy sank down to his bed so he couldn't be hugged.

Their separate beds had been rich fighting territory when they first moved upstairs a couple years ago, with regular fights over not sitting on the other's, nothing of Brendan's could touch Tommy's, and so on. But Brendan got onto his brother's bed like it was his own and pulled him up from behind to rest between his arms and legs. Tommy didn't fight it. He just went limp and cried.  
  
"Shh." Brendan held him close and smoothed his hair, patted his face. "Pretty soon we can go anywhere, do whatever we want. You're not stuck here forever."  
  
"But mom is."  
  
"Then that's her problem."  
  
"That makes me so sad."  
  
"I know." He held Tommy's arms into stillness from behind and felt his ribs tremble between his knees.

He felt so old and jaded sometimes, but if he was too cold for not caring anymore then Tommy cared too much, stretching himself too far to be what each of them wanted. Pop's winner. Mom's sweetheart. "Maybe when I graduate I'll get an apartment and you can come live with me. Or you're gonna get such a huge scholarship someplace maybe I should come mooch offa you."  
  
"Yeah." A half-smile touched Tommy's voice and he sniffed hard, absently stroking a thumb across Brendan's forearm. "I bet Theogenes didn't cry half as much as me. He prolly didn't cry at all."  
  
"It's okay to be sad."  
  
"You never are."  
  
"Maybe I'm good at hiding it," Brendan lied. Maybe it was easier because he was older - and freedom got closer every day.  
  
Tommy's breathing started to settle and his joints relaxed; it was impossible to ignore how he was getting bigger, heavier. "This is even better than mom hugs. Don't tell her, though."  
  
"I won't." Brendan inhaled the comforting, sweaty-clean scent of his hair and knew he was right - that he should pay more attention and do more big brother stuff in what time they had left under this roof. Maybe they could catch a bus over to DeLuca's and he could treat him to a stack of peanut butter pancakes.

"Hey Tom-"  
  
"Shut up a minute, I'm sayin' a novena in my head in case it helps."

"Okay, but after-"

Tommy patted his arm. "Shh." His breathing leveled out to an almost mathematical measure - for Rosary decades, and Brendan knew the picture in his head was of their Most Holy Mother, the Queen of Mercy draped in her blue mantle, holding the ribbon of his life in her hands.

He kissed the top of Tommy's head and held him a little tighter.


End file.
